


where the fiercest attention becomes routine

by crookedspoon



Series: Thirty-Three Love Poems, Odds, and Ends [19]
Category: Batman - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Drabble Sequence, F/F, Romance, Tea, Work In Progress
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-11-08
Updated: 2014-11-08
Packaged: 2018-02-24 15:14:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2586116
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crookedspoon/pseuds/crookedspoon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mad love and tea parlor romance.</p>
            </blockquote>





	where the fiercest attention becomes routine

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Swan_Secrets](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Swan_Secrets/gifts).



> Written for "[Batman: Harley/Ivy - magic trick](http://femslash100.livejournal.com/852173.html?thread=4259277#t4259277)" at femslash100's drabbletag 5, "Coffee Shop AU" at ladiesbingo Round 2 and "Want to know what hurts the most? Having to pretend it doesn’t hurt at all." from 1-million-words' [Weekend Challenge](http://1-million-words.livejournal.com/943966.html?thread=9704542#t9704542).

In the mornings, Harleen could never rush to work fast enough, eager to make a name for herself as she was. She used to skip breakfast for the extra minutes she'd gain, but by the time lunch hour rolled around, discerning wordstrings on menus had become impossible.

She settled for buying bagles and cheap coffees-to-go on her way to the office.

She had considered mentioning she wouldn't mind covering night shifts at the asylum since she had no family to look after, but she knew her supervisors thought she was yet too green. And it wouldn't do to look desperate.

*

In her hurry, Harleen barely registered the changing signs on storefronts anymore – shops routinely came and went, along with their owners. In Gotham, no one survived long without the protection of the mob.

It used to be a point of interest to keep track of who owned what where, but that quickly got out of vogue during her last year at university, when she locked herself into her room to make up for her failing grades. By the time she made it out alive, half out of her wits from studying so hard, she no longer recognized her favorite spots.

*

Nowadays, Harleen was more obsessed with work than with observing the developments in the city. She had finally been granted to conduct her own interviews with inmates – the least dangerous cases, anyway – and was determined to work her way up from there. If only Dr. Crane wasn't such a spoilsport, _or_ such a stickler to rules. She might be able to persuade him then.

Deep in her thoughts like this, she almost ran over the redhead handing out leaflets to passersby. She stammered an apology around the lip of her paper cup, and slipped a flyer into her coat pocket.

*

Once in the subway, Harleen's curiosity got the better of her. Usually, she threw away handouts like this the moment she had rounded the next corner, but apparently her guilty conscience for nearly ploughing over the woman had made her keep it. For some reason she expected to find a call to donate to some NGO with the goal of protecting biodiversity in the rainforest printed on it, but instead it announced the opening of a new tea parlor in town. To lure in customers, it included a voucher for a free cup.

Harleen decided to hang on to it.

*

Over the weeks, Harleen found herself leaving for work earlier and staying later, unwilling to return to her empty apartment where nobody was ever waiting for her. (Which, in essence, was a good thing. She didn't need burglars or, worse yet, stalkers in her home.) At Arkham at least, she had colleagues and patients who knew her, some of whom were even pleased to see her. Some of whom she herself was pleased to see.

The tea parlor was closed whenever she passed it, so she soon forgot about wanting to redeem the voucher she'd been keeping in her pocket.

*

It was only later, on a drizzly November night, when Harleen ambled the streets of Gotham, drunk on love, that she noticed illumination spilling from the café. Vines covered the facade as if they had been growing there for a hundred years, and the roses adorning the tables inside reminded her of the single, perfect bloom she had found on her desk today. A burst of warmth flooded her cheeks again, just as it had earlier.

Rummaging through her pockets for the crumpled flyer, she decided to to redeem it at last. Tea would fit her romantic mood quite nicely.

*

"Excuse me," she said as she poked her head inside. "Are you still open?"

"Please, come in," the owner lady said. "I've been waiting for you."

The secretive smile on her lips made Harleen wonder whether she amused herself by greeting every first-time customer in this way to study their reaction.

"Hi," she said, somewhat redundantly, and found herself returning the smile. "Can I still get a free cup with this?"

"Sure. What can I get you?"

Harleen shrugged. "Surprise me. I'm open for anything."

"Is that so?" the woman smiled again. "I think I know just what you'd like."

*

Harleen sat down in the nearest booth, nervously running her fingers over the polished rosewood, and waited. The woman vanished behind the counter, probably measuring out leaves and pouring water through a strainer.

Playing with the small wreath on the table, Harleen slowly relaxed and watched the rain pitter-patter against the window, glad to have made it inside before being caught in it.

Some moments later, the woman placed steaming chinaware in front of her.

Harleen blew on the liquid before sipping. "This is good. What's in it?"

"Lime, with a pinch of ginger."

"Ah, I think I'm in love."

*

As soon as the words left her, Harleen knew them to be the shocking truth. The trouble was not the sentiment itself, but rather the object of her affection. Her supervisor would have her head if she knew.

Harleen placed her cup back on its saucer and stared in front of her. She didn't know what to do about it. There wasn't really anything _to_ do except keep quiet about it and hope it would go away before anyone noticed.

"Is something the matter?" the woman asked. "You've suddenly gone pale."

"Oh, no," Harleen attempted a weak laugh. "Everything's fine."

*

Harleen returned the following evening and the evening after that, trying out the different blends and watching the owner lady at work. Her name was Pamela, and she'd been a botanist before her passion for tea had prompted her on this adventure.

She was really sweet, often sitting down to talk to Harleen as if they'd been best friends since kindergarten. In the natural flow of their conversation, Harleen could almost forget about her trying day at Arkham, where she suspected her every move was being monitored.

The one thing she could not forget, however, was her impossible love interest.


End file.
